An Officer and a Jedi
by Rdr2
Summary: A valiant Jedi Knight takes her turn at playing Fleet Commander. COMPLETE
1. An Officer and a Jedi, Ch 1

_**An Officer and a Jedi**_

_Author's Notes:_ This is far from the quality I tried to go for in my other story, _A Knight Alone_. Though Angela Marshair is easily my favorite character (being of my own creation as well as my Player Character in an RPG), I kind of lost interest in writing this particular escapade. You can tell by the extremely rushed ending. Oh well.

_Timeline:_ 34 years after the Battle of Yavin

**Chapter One: Victory by Fire**

Angela Marshair looked into the vastness of space from her chair on the bridge of the _Impermeable_. The lumbering _Victory II_ Star Destroyer was escorted by a _Victory I_ and accompanying flights of X-wings and Y-wings. Her small fleet moved into position above the green world of Tannark. All they had to do now was wait.

They did not wait long.

Dozens of ships—space pirates, every one of them—fell out of hyperspace, with a duo of Star Destroyers right on their heels. The pirates were now pinned between two attack groups. They had walked right into Angela's cunning trap, as she had foreseen. Now the final phase of her scheme came into play.

"Open a channel to the pirates," she ordered. "Captain Lucius Brecktan, this is Angela Marshair, Jedi Knight and Fleet Commander of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances. We have you at our mercy, Captain, and request that you lay down your arms and surrender. You and your men will desist from your raiding activities and submit yourselves to the justice of the Federation. Comply or suffer the consequences."

"Jedi don't kill needlessly," Brecktan shot back haughtily. "You wouldn't murder us when you so clearly have the advantage."

"Who said anything about killing you?" she replied. "I said you would suffer the consequences. I'll give you this last chance, Captain, to come peacefully."

"Eat bantha shit, Jedi whore!"

But Angela was unfazed by the pirate lord's vulgarity. She turned to the communications officer. "Ensign, relay my commands to the _Intrepid_ and the _Interloper_. They are to fire proton torpedoes on Captain Brecktan's ship. After that, tell Alpha Squadron and Omega Squadron to fire from the opposite direction. Tell them they are to perform a fake burst stunt."

She watched events unfold with the calm of a Jedi and the seriousness of a tactician. Eight proton torpedoes spewed forth from two Star Destroyers, dragging their white energy tails. They moved to strike Brecktan from behind. At the same time, eight X-wings flew in from the front, laser fire painting the blackness of space bright red. But the shots did not hit home. They skirted past Brecktan's shields and struck the proton torpedoes head-on. The explosive weapons detonated and shattered his shields and scorched his engines. His ship hobbled and stopped.

"As you can see, Captain," Angela said silkily, "there are consequences for defying the Federation. My men are well-trained and dedicated. Your minions stole their lands, killed their people, raped their women. They want vengeance. But they hold back their desire for revenge because they are disciplined force—and yet if I just give the word, those X-wings won't destroy the torpedoes next time."

"All right, I—we—surrender!" Brecktan sounded terrified, and well he should be.

"Unconditionally," the Jedi Knight added.

"Unconditionally!" the pirate lord agreed.

Angela Marshair let a smile take her lips. "This is Fleet Commander Marshair to Alpha and Omega squadrons. Good job, boys. To the _Intrepid_ and the _Interloper_, my congratulations to your respective crews for chasing the pirates to me. Now, send boarding parties and take those pirates into custody. After that, we can go home and have ourselves a drink."

Applause sounded throughout the halls of the _Impermeable_. More than few throats went hoarse shouting, "Three cheers for Commander Marshair—the greatest Jedi alive!"

* * *

This was her tenth victory against the pirates along the Inner and Outer Rims. For the past year, the dastardly villains had raided and pillaged with impunity, especially since the Federation was still on its early legs, gaining the support of the Core Worlds. Little effort or expense could be spared to tame the fringe territories. 

But Angela had insisted that something be done about the various pirate groups that had cropped up over the last few months. Her compelling charisma, sterling words, and unshakable determination had wrenched four Star Destroyers and forty starfighters into her possession. Her political background did wonders for that, as well. Now she was a Fleet Commander, and while some of the Senators and higher-ranking military disliked her for what they deemed to be her "Jedi arrogance," they could not deny that she was becoming an effective leader.

Which only irked her political enemies further. They did not like having a Jedi among them. It gave the Jedi too much power to have one in the military. She understood their fears, and so tried to downplay her role as a member of that ancient brotherhood. She understood, too, that most of the Federation's military brass had strong connections in the political arena. Her command would be contested every step of the way—indeed, she had been from her very first engagement with the pirates. Whether it was a delay in supplies, a lack of tactical intelligence, or a false lead deliberately sent to trick her, she knew that her enemies in the Federation were out to bring her down.

So she had to play their game, by their rules. And, more often then not, she won.

"We'll see how Admiral Moltos will like this," she said to herself, setting Captain Brecktan's prized blaster pistols on the mantle of her quarters. One look at her trophy and Moltos—one of her chief rivals—would have to acknowledge her tactical skill. She would make him say the words that she wants to hear: that giving her a fleet was a good idea.

Her comlink beeped and she answered it. "Commander Marshair," she said.

"Commander," one of the ensigns on the bridge said, "Jedi Master Skywalker is on the line. Should I patch him through?"

"Yes. Put him through holo communications." She closed her comlink and turned on the holoimager unit on her desk. Luke Skywalker's figure hovered above it in the familiar blue of a hologram. "Master Skywalker," she said with a respectful bow, "to what do I owe this honor?"

"I heard about your recent victory over several pirate groups in the last month or so. Destroying six fleets is no mean feat. Congratulations," the Jedi Master said cordially. "I wondered if you will be returning to the Jedi Order soon. You still have to complete your formal training."

"Master Skywalker, with all due respect, I believe my training to be complete." She straightened her black tunic for emphasis. She made it right after she had declared herself a Jedi Knight. "Put faith in Ran Tonno-Skeve's tutelage. I _am_ a Jedi Knight. Besides, my fleet needs me. I cannot abandon them now. There are still so many worlds imperiled by the pirate threat. I already have my intelligence crew scouting out the possible headquarters of three more of these pirate lords."

"Your dedication to preserving peace and justice is commendable, Angela, I do not deny that. But you are taking far too aggressive a stance. I fear that you may be walking the path of the dark side. And Ran, your Master, would never want to see that happen."

Angela stiffened at the mention of her dead Master. "I know the risks, Master Skywalker. And I know that I am trying my best to keep the dark side from touching me. Please have faith in my ability and conscience, because I will not be returning to the Jedi until my task is done." She abruptly shut off the holoimager, ending the conversation.

Her brief talk with Master Skywalker left a dull taste in her mouth. Ever since she proclaimed herself a full-fledged Jedi Knight, the other Jedi have walked around her warily, on their tiptoes, even. They distrusted her, and for good reason: Though only twenty years old, she was stronger in the Force than any of them, Skywalker included. Add to that her political acumen and military success, and it was plain to see why those she regarded as allies would want to watch her sideways.

But such musings did little for her mission. She steadfastly shoved those concerns to the back of her mind and flipped open her comlink. "Lieutenant Vale," she said, speaking to her chief intelligence officer. "Give me some news."

"We've got confirmations, Commander," Vale said with usual terseness. She knew him to be a thirty-year veteran, a man who oversaw countless intelligence missions. His skills were highly regarded by those in the field and he had served her well these past few months. "The self-styled Lord Cragg is hiding out along the Entaro Belt. It's a nasty bit of an asteroid field, Commander, and a damn good hiding place. The metal content of those rocks makes it hard to get a good fix on how many ships he's got."

"I want documents, Vale," Angela said stonily. Cragg sounded like a clever man, using the terrain to his advantage. But she knew how to break men like him. Flexibility was the only weapon she would need. "Star charts, composition charts, lists of anyone who's mined the area or tried setting up shop there in the last five years. I want trade routes going into, through, or around it within a hundred light-years. And I want them all on my desk in an hour."

She shut off her comlink and went to her desk. The information she requested would arrive on time, she knew with confidence, for her men believed in her tactical ability—an ability that was fueled by information. They would give her the wood she needed to build a fire. But as she settled into her chair and booted her computer, she knew that there could be no substitute for doing one's own footwork.

Within minutes, she had read dozens of documents stored on no less than ten archival databases. By the time the charts and maps she had requested had arrived, she already had the beginnings of a plan in mind. "Bring me some caffa," she told the courier who brought her the documents. "A teaspoon of sugar and a splash of cream," she added. The caffeine would be welcome, for it would take her many long hours to perfect the details. When midnight struck, the skeleton was finished. When she finally retired to her cot, she did so with a smile—her plan was ready.

But having a plan was one matter, having the plan executed to perfection was entirely another. Angela knew this well, and took it into consideration while writing up a timetable for the assault on Cragg's base. The next day, she met with the captains of her subordinate Star Destroyers. Captains Taisho, Ullwar, and Nico sat before her around a circular planning table in the _Impermeable_'s war room. They each read over a copy of her attack plan.

"Genius, Commander," congratulated Taisho, a human graybeard from Corellia who had fought in both the Galactic Civil War and the Yuuzhan Vong war with distinction. Angela accepted his praise with a curt nod. He was the eldest in her fleet and one of the most experienced. She trusted in his judgement and when he thought a plan was good, it _was_ good.

"The timetable is too tight," complained Ullwar, a female Twi'lek. "We can't possibly train the men in these maneuvers in such a short time. We'll need at least a month."

"If we wait that long," Angela argued, "we'd lose the element of surprise. Remember, the pirate lords know about us and fear us. For now, mobility and hit-and-run tactics have served well enough. They keep us out of their range, away from their scouts, and bring us the occasional element of surprise that we can exploit.

"But in order to train the men for an assault on Cragg's base, we'll need to remain stationary for a time. Two weeks, Ullwar—that's all we can afford to spare before Cragg figures out what we're doing or some other pirate tips him off."

The Twi'lek muttered, "It's still too tight."

The brown-haired girl smiled tightly and nodded. "Unfortunately, it's the best that we can do."

Captain Nico, a native of Coruscant, said, "Commander, my _Sentinel_ still needs to be repaired. Luring out Brecktan cost me my shield generators and my forward laser weapons. As it is, my men won't be of much service to you."

Angela waved her hand, dismissing the issue. "Don't worry about that, Nico. If you look on page sixteen, you'll see that your men _will_ be useful. In fact, I'm hoping that your damaged ship will be the perfect decoy. Ah, good, you see the role you will play? Excellent. With any luck, you'll give us the opening we need to pulverize Cragg and his base—and without risking a single member of your crew. You will, however, have to give half of your starfighter squadrons to Captain Ullwar's command."

Nico simply nodded. "I'm sure Captain Ullwar can make good use of my flights, and I know that you've never led us astray in your thinking, Commander."

"Then this meeting is adjourned," Angela announced. "Get moving. We have two weeks to prepare. In the meantime, I'll have what repair droids we have fix up your ship, Nico. And Ullwar, I'll see if I can extend the training timeslot by a day or so." The two captains smiled appreciatively and left to carry out their duties.

Taisho grunted as he stood, his old bones creaking. "You certainly have a way with people, Commander Jedi," the veteran said. "It's a wonder that gifted people like you are showing up. We could have used you in the Rebellion."

"Old man," the brown-haired girl said with all seriousness, "it's just a sign of the times. Now get going. Nico and Ullwar aren't the only ones who have men to train."

"As ordered, Commander Jedi." The old captain limped off.

* * *

Two weeks later, Angela once again surveyed her troops from her chair on the bridge. The fleet neared the Entaro Belt, with thousands of rocks and pieces of debris floating and tumbling through the emptiness of space. She saw the glimmering lights of a space station deep in the morass, safe within a small artificial gravity well that kept the rocks at bay. 

"Quite the set up he has here," she said with admiration. "But it won't be enough. Ensign, give the order for Alpha Squadron to begin their attack run and for Epsilon Squadron to get in position. Captain Nico, I'm counting on you."

"Leave it to me, Commander," the captain of the _Sentinel_ replied eagerly through the communication channel. Angela saw the great Star Destroyer turn to port, seemingly moving in to flank the asteroid field.

Cragg was a clever man. The Entaro Belt was notorious for its heavy metal and mineral content—particularly in elemental forms of shield-generation crystals. In their unrefined forms, such minerals could dissipate blaster fire harmlessly over their many facets, making them an ideal barrier against attacks from capital ships. Enough blaster fire could destroy them, since they lack the regenerative properties of the refined crystals used in shield generators, but there were enough of the crystals in the Entaro Belt to make a head-on assault impractical.

But there were always other options than a head-on attack.

"We're losing sensors," one of her junior officers reported. "Metal content is interfering with all starboard sensors. Snub fighters will be going in blind."

"Download the Revulan Trade Strip routes to Alpha Squadron," Angela ordered. "They won't be going in completely blind. They'll just have to go around."

"This is Major Isano, Epsilon Leader," a crisp militant voice sounded through the intercom. "We're approaching our attack vector and standing by. All flyers are green, Home Base."

"Do you see anything out there, Major?" she asked.

"Negative, Home. Just rocks—wait, Howlrunners at two o'clock! Epsilon Four, watch your tail! Ep Two, you're with me." The communications went dead, engulfed in the sounds of laser fire.

But the brown-haired Jedi was unconcerned. Calmly, she said, "Switch to camera droids. I want to see these Howlrunners myself."

A holo appeared over the viewscreen, relaying the first-person perspective of a small camera droid skirting the fringes of the heated battle. The four Y-wings of Epsilon Squadron danced with seven Howlrunners, the nimbler starfighters turning circles around the Y-wings. The green-blue of shielding glowed in the darkness of space.

"They can't hold off that many," Angela muttered tautly. "And we're too far to send backup. A change in plans—Epsilon, move into the asteroid field at vector eight-two-zero. Try and lose them in there."

"You can't be serious!" Major Isano's disbelieving voice trickled through the sounds of battle. "It's a bloody _asteroid field_!"

"Just obey, _Major_," she growled, emphasizing his rank. "Move your squadron into the asteroid field at vector eight-two-zero. Exactly three seconds in, perform a parade-style flower blossom and converge at eight-eight-four."

"Aye, Commander," the Major acknowledged tonelessly. It was clear that he had his doubts, but he was a soldier—Epsilon Squadron zipped past the Howlrunners and into the field of death. They burned full throttle, but not a single asteroid struck them. Howlrunners screamed and exploded as a chunk of rock that just barely missed a Y-wing rammed into them full force. The squadron performed the flower blossom, flying around a large cluster of rocks as a result, and resumed their formation behind it. The display was breathtaking. And Epsilon Squadron was behind the wall of asteroids.

"How did you know?" one of the bridge officers asked in a weak and stunned voice.

"Information," Angela answered with a smile. "The Entaro Belt, like all asteroid belts, has naturally erratic behavior when it comes to the movement of its component parts. But the introduction of an artificial gravity well—Cragg's base—forced the asteroids into a spherical structure, with the base in the center, safely nestled in a pocket devoid of rocks. What Cragg didn't realize was that his gravity well imposed a pattern to the way the asteroids moved. I simply read up on the movements of certain parts of the Belt and exploited the weakness he created."

She switched to a tactical holo, revealing the positions of her Star Destroyers. "_Sentinel_," she said coolly, in full control of the battle, "you may begin your attack when ready." The Star Destroyer unleashed a heavy barrage of laser fire upon the flank of the asteroid field. As expected, the crystal content of the rocks foiled the assault, sending up a cloud of red sparks. A very thick cloud that filled any metal-resistant sensors on Cragg's base with static.

"Alpha Squadron," she said, "you have cover; they're sensor blind to you. Begin your attack run." The four X-wings of the squadron roared in from the Revulan Trade Strip, coming in at an oblique angle from the _Intrepid_. Chucks of vaporized rock and dust mingled with the spark cloud, testimony to the firepower of the Star Destroyer. The X-wings flew through the debris, following Angela's strict flight plans. As she had expected, they moved through the asteroid field without a single errant strike, for she had guessed the movement patterns of the rocks. Alpha Squadron linked up with Epsilon Squadron.

"Incoming enemy fighters," the tactics officer announced.

"Complements?" Angela asked.

"Ten Howlrunners, four A-Nines, three Headhunters, and three CloakShapes."

"An impressive force for a motley band," she murmured. "But hardly the defense I was expecting from someone as notorious and successful as Cragg. _Interloper_, move to the rear of the base and deploy your starfighters in a staggered conformation. Prepare for enemy snub fighters, transports, and capital ships trying to leave along your vector. And watch out for any extra fighters that Cragg's keeping in reserve."

She had Cragg on the ropes—his pitiful defense was proof of that. And such meager resistance meant one of two things: preparation for a major assault or a retreat. Angela did not suspect the pirate lord to possess enough firepower to take her head-on without risking serious damage, so a retreat was the logical conclusion. Sure enough, she saw four Nebulon-B frigates lumber out of the rear of the base, escorted by twenty more snub fighters and five transport ships. It was an impressive fleet for a pirate lord, and would have given her a difficult fight. Both sides would have taken heavy damage in such an engagement.

But Cragg was walking into her trap. The battle was going in her favor and it was time to deliver the finishing blow. "_Sentinel_, move to support the _Interloper_. _Intrepid_, deploy all starfighters along the Revulan Trade Strip. Have them assault the base and assist Alpha and Epsilon. Alpha and Epsilon Squadrons, keep those enemy snub fighters busy—do not let them disengage to reinforce Cragg. If you have to, retreat into the asteroid field at vectors six-four-nine and two-two-zero. Navigation, bring us to vector nine-seven-two and deploy our starfighters. We're going to engage."

The battle unfolded like a great play, with Angela was the director. Explosions tore through the pirate ranks, gutted the base, and sundered the capital ships. They were trapped between the firepower of two Star Destroyers and the very asteroid field that they relied on for protection. Their laser cannons splashed uselessly against the crystal-heavy asteroids. They could not flee, they could not fight. They only died. The five transports dissolved in streams of fire, the mixed complements of Howlrunners, A-Nines, and other starfighters were rent to fragments of metal. And one by one, the frigates collapsed, streaming air and fire into the cold of space, where both were extinguished.

"Cease the assault and open a channel to the survivors," Angela commanded. "To the pirate lord Cragg: I am Fleet Commander Angela Marshair, and we have come to demand your unconditional surrender…."


	2. An Officer and a Jedi, Ch 2

**Chapter Two: Storm of Violence**

The gathered admirals were tense and disturbed. Worry added lines to the aged faces. These were men who had reaped the benefits of the Rebellion. They were born from affluent, politically-influential families and made good use of their rank to elevate themselves into the echelons of the New Republic. But the New Republic died and was replaced by the fledgling Galactic Federation of Free Alliances—they had to begin their climb to power all over again.

They started small, taking on assignments along the Inner and Outer Rims, confident that there would be few obstacles to bar their return to prominence. The fringe territories were wild, barbaric, but surely admirals of their intellect and caliber could tame such worlds and bring them to their knees. It was not to be so. They encountered pirate navies, well-trained and crafty, led by warlords seeking conquest over their little domains.

They ruled over small pockets of civilization, lorded over tiny, insignificant worlds that were only barely part of the galactic democracy. But they had power—more power over those planets than the admirals did. To assuage their wounded pride, the admirals went to war. They failed to defeat the organized pirate fleets.

And then came Angela Marshair.

The beautiful young Jedi Knight led a small corps of mercenaries into one of the pirates' bases and wiped it out in a day. She captured ships and took the leader prisoner. These she presented to the admirals with the hauteur of a highborn woman and the authority of a seasoned warrior. There was a dangerous light to her eyes, but the admirals could not deny her ability. They had sought to incorporate her into their plans, but found that she turned their gambits against them. Now she held four of their capital ships and the loyalty of their crews. Now they saw her as a threat.

And the admirals grew bitter and turned their schemes against her.

"Marshair grows stronger with every victory," rasped Admiral Ronso, emphasizing his point by pounding his fist on the table. "I've reports that say she's sent Cragg to the Federation in chains! She even _paraded_ him before her troops. Her arrogance is astounding."

Admiral Moltos placated his peer with a stern look. "We must not move rashly. She is a capable tactician and a Jedi, a powerful combination as we have seen. Moving against her now would be foolish. She would learn of any plans we make and destroy us. Believe me when I say this: Angela Marshair is only waiting for the opportunity to eliminate us."

"And with good reason," agreed Admiral Stempson. "We are her chief rivals along the fringe worlds. We control the military bases that she has to dock at to supply her ships and feed her men. Let us use that against her."

"She's already thought of that," said Moltos. "When was the last time she docked at any of our bases? Two months ago. She did not have enough supplies to last one month. Where do you think she is getting her resources? From the pirates—she takes their rations and their fuel and their repair droids when she conquers them."

"In other words, she's self-sufficient," growled Ronso. "But this proves that she is no better than the scum! If we alert the Federation to her actions—"

"And run the risk of being branded as incompetents?" interrupted Moltos. "Don't be a fool, Ronso. This is a delicate matter. Marshair isn't an official member of the military. The Federation only allows her to retain a fleet because she has made astounding victories where we only found defeat. To go crawling to the government with demands to have her removed when her reputation is so sterling is to commit political suicide."

"Then what do we do, Moltos?" sneered Ronso. "Or would you simply have us cower with a our tails between our legs like curs?"

Moltos ignored the barb. "We discredit her. We find something, anything, that can be used to break down her reputation. And I have a plan in the works that will do that."

* * *

A loud bang sounded throughout the bridge. Angela pounded her fist onto her armrest again, causing another bang. "Those fools cut off my supplies _again_," she growled upon receiving the communications from the Tatooine port authority. "They plot against me even this far out in the Rim!" Her fury, rarely seen by any, sent her subordinates cowering in their chairs. Upon seeing their fright, she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm. "I apologize for my outburst," she said sincerely. Her crew relaxed visibly.

She looked out the viewport at the yellow dustball that was Tatooine. They had come to pick up a month's shipment of rations and medical supplies, as well as to order proper repairs for the _Sentinel_ and the various starfighter squadrons that had been damaged during the assault on Cragg's base. Normally, she just looted what she needed from her foes. But pickings had been meager lately and the _Sentinel_ required extensive repairs, such that normal looting was insufficient.

She had come to Tatooine for what she needed because there were no Federation military bases there. But her rivals, the Federation's admirals, had sent instructions in advance to purchase and route all available resources to other hotspots, where the other Federation ships were fighting the pirate lords. It did not surprise her that those vessels were loyal to her political enemies.

"What are we going to do now, Commander?" one of the ensigns asked. "We don't have enough food to last us another week."

Angela thought quickly, tapping her temple. Her mood immediately brightened and a cunning grin split across her face. "Open a channel to Lieutenant Vale. Ah, Lieutenant. Firstly, I want to express my thanks for your good work—the information you got me made our victory at Cragg's possible. Secondly, I have another assignment for you. Get me as much data on the pirate Oppo Recees. He's the one disturbing the peace along the Wellisk Trade Spine. I want sightings, combats with the local militias, starfighter and gunship complements, levels of combat skill—everything."

"Another pirate lord, so soon?" Vale sounded surprised and with good reason. Angela Marshair was not noted for her recklessness in tactical affairs. "Our resources are stretched thin as it is, Commander. We don't have what it takes for another assault. Surely you see that."

Angela suppressed an irritated, impatient twitch of her eye. With her enemies' interference fresh in her wounds, she was not in the mood for even the lowliest insubordination. "Lieutenant, you only have to obey my orders and trust in my judgement. Bring me the information I requested. I want it on my desk in three days." She shut off communications with an abrupt click. "Ensign, hail Captains Taisho, Ullwar, and Nico. They are to prepare their squadrons for a standard frontline assault. And tell Alpha and Epsilon Squadrons to meet me in my war room in an hour."

Her rivals sought to put her out of the game, sought to take down her victories by starving her fleet. Such a gambit would not work on her, for she had foiled them again and again and again. This was merely another childish attempt to defeat her, but it would not work. It had surprised her, yes. She did not expect their arm to reach this far out into the fringe. But she was not worried. Oppo Recees was quite the successful pirate—surely his holds contained much fruit for her and her men to feast on. Already, the seeds of another plan were sown in her mind, which would carry her to victory and, more importantly, to supplies.

She watered those seeds and watched them germinate as the two starfighter squadrons filed into the war room. "I'll be brief," she said. "I am staging an assault on the pirate lord Oppo Recees. Chances are, a frontline assault will not work, but that is not the meat of my plan. That will merely be a cover. Instead, you will be training for an infiltration strike. I want you to escort a space transport or a bomber carrying explosives to Recees and blow him up."

"That sounds sketchy, Commander," Major Isano noted.

"At the moment, yes it is," Angela agreed. "But within three days the plan will be more detailed. I am expecting further information soon. In the meantime, I want you all to prepare yourselves for stealth operations. Modifications to your standard training regimen will be instituted as my plan develops. Dismissed."

The next three days were hectic for everyone in the fleet, but even more so for her. She preferred a hands-on approach to directing her forces, and so personally reviewed every report and training regimen nightly. She did not find a moment's sleep during those three days, for she was drawing up plans and tactical layouts the entire time. She met with other lieutenants, other majors, other captains to discuss and clarify her stratagems, ensuring that her men performed precisely as she wanted. Her nights were heavy-lidded and exhausting, accompanied only by a warm muffin or cup of caffa that rapidly cooled from inattention.

But then came Lieutenant Vale's reports, twenty hours earlier than she had anticipated. The four hundred pages of papers and datacards revived her, lent her new energy. She eagerly devoured their words and figures and she determinedly applied them to her operations. The emptiness of space flew by her in a timeless dance, with her working amidst the lonely light of a lamp, finishing the last bits of her strategy.

The next morning came and she tiredly took her seat on the bridge. But a smile lit her face.

"Status report," she demanded, suppressing a yawn.

"We've just entered the Wellisk Trade Spine, Commander," reported one of the navigators. "As per your instructions, Omega Squadron is on escort duty and Alpha and Epsilon Squadrons are hiding behind the _Intrepid_ and _Interloper_."

"Are they powered down?" she asked. "Are they still magnetically attached to the ships?"

"Yes, Commander. As per your instructions."

"Good. And the bomber?"

"It is attached as well, and fully loaded."

"What about the _Sentinel_?"

A tactics officer answered her. "The _Sentinel_ is at the other side of the Spine, Commander. It is standing by and waiting for your orders. As per your orders, it is maintaining radio silence."

"Excellent." Angela settled back in her chair and allowed her eyes to shut, giving them a much needed rest. "Are all ships slaved to jump to Delta Squadron?"

"Yes, Commander."

"And where is Oppo Recees?"

"Delta Squadron is tailing him now, Commander," said another officer. "Recees' forces are raiding the farming planet of Catara." The officer visibly winced at saying the name. Quietly, he added, "It's my homeworld, Commander."

Angela opened her eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. "We'll save it, don't you worry about that. Just do your duty, officer, and put your faith in your fellow crewmembers and me. Oppo Recees' days of piracy are over starting this minute."

She stood, knowing that her authoritative appearance as both a leader and a Jedi would inspire her crew. "Open a channel to all our forces—including the _Sentinel_. This is Fleet Commander Angela Marshair. All forces, commence operations!"

As one, her fleet entered hyperspace, reappearing only seconds later behind Delta Squadron. Before them were the green world of Catara—and the seven capital ships of Oppo Recees.

Oppo Recees was one of the more powerful of the pirate lords along the fringe. Having stolen ships from both the New Republic and the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances, he had one of the strongest fleets around. But not even his seven dreadnoughts would save him from Angela Marshair.

Her fleet spread out like a fan. The _Intrepid_ and the _Interloper_ moved in from the flanks, while Angela's _Impermeable_ drove right through the center. The pirates turned their attention from the planet to their new enemies, and dozens of fighters spilled into space like little metal insects. In response, Angela's three capital ships deployed their own squadrons—though Alpha and Epsilon remained hidden and unused.

Angela watched the battle with interest, her lethargy forgotten and shed like a cloak. "Gamma and Omega Squadrons are to attack the engines of that cruiser, the _Tooth of Nail_," she said. "And _Intrepid_, turn your guns on the _Ugly Mate_. Beta and Delta Squadrons are to attack the _Long Talon_. Keep it from joining up with the _Ugly Mate_." The amendments to her attack plan were carried out with lightning-fast speed and bull's eye precision. She grinned tightly as she saw the _Tooth of Nail_ halt dead in its tracks, its engines sputtering and finally exploding. The _Long Talon_ never made it to the _Ugly Mate_'s side, and its sister ship fell to the greater firepower of the _Intrepid_. The pirate ship sat gutted and listless.

"_Intrepid_," Angela said, "press your attack. Head for Recees' flagship, the _Terror of Hell_. _Interloper_, move in to support. _Sentinel_, come out of hiding and destroy the _Long Talon_. Prevent it from attacking the _Interloper_."

Suddenly, the _Sentinel_ dropped out of hyperspace, having been slaved to the _Interloper_'s position. It opened fire, razing the shields and hull plates of the already-damaged _Long Talon_. The pirate vessel spewed atmosphere and fire, a clear sign that it was disabled. The _Intrepid_ and _Interloper_ lumbered past the pirates' lines of defenses, heading straight for the _Terror of Hell_. But Angela saw two more pirates vessels coming up right behind them.

"_Sentinel_, move in to protect our ships," she said. "Helm, take us to full throttle. We're going to intercept those two pirates. Have Delta and Gamma run interference."

She saw the _Interloper_ and _Intrepid_ move within firing range. They opened fire on the _Terror of Hell_, which was accompanied by a massive gunship called the _Eternal Flame_. The four ships unloaded an intense burst of laser fire upon each other, tearing through shields and metal.

Angela gave the order for the coup de grace. "Alpha, Epsilon—drop your bomb." Immediately, sixteen starfighters poured out, dancing across the _Terror of Hell_'s bridge. With them came the bomber like a great bulbous balloon waiting to pop. It came right up to the bridge, its starfighter escorts destroying any opposition in its path. Its cargo bay opened, spilling hundreds of small metal blocks.

"Alpha, Epsilon—break formation and get out of there," Angela ordered.

The metal blocks struck and the _Terror of Hell_ was engulfed in flames. The plasma bombs tore apart the bridge and engines, gutted the shield generators, disintegrated the first six levels of the ship. By the time the fires died in the coldness of space—only mere seconds—the _Terror of Hell_ was no more than shards of twisted durasteel.

She sighed, feeling victory in her hands. "Open a channel to the pirates," she ordered. "This is Fleet Commander Angela Marshair. I demand your immediate and unconditional surrender," she said, calling upon the speech she knew by memory. "You're captain is dead and you have lost your flagship. Three more lie disabled in our wake. Surrender and you will be given a fair trial. Continue to fight, and you will suffer the consequences—such as the fiery fate of the _Terror of Hell_."

The communication channels were instantly bombarded by messages of capitulation.

Angela waved a hand, and a communications officer shut off the channels. "Commander," the officer began, "we don't have any other bombers."

The brown-haired girl smiled widely. "I know, but they don't." Then she laughed and her crew shared her mirth. "Have salvage crews gather what we can from the _Terror of Hell_," she said. "Use what you can to repair our ships. Send troops to pacify the crews of the remaining pirate vessels. I want control over them. Put all the pirates in the _Impermeable_'s brig."

She looked down at the Cantaran officer. "Congratulations everyone," she said to the crew while keeping her eye on the officer. "We've just saved a good planet." The officer smiled with tears of gratitude and joy in his eyes.

* * *

Capturing three pirate ships turned out to be most fruitful, for each carried enough supplies for six months. With eighteen months' worth of material, her fleet was practically self-sufficient. However, she lacked the manpower to operate an additional six capital ships. The _Tooth of Nail_, _Long Talon_, and _Ugly Mate_ would take time to repair, but eventually even they would join her fleet—another three ships, if she waited long enough. Yet she was loath to leave such fine vessels behind. The problem was soon rectified, however.

The thankful people of Catara had sent her an invitation to a feast in her honor. She and her crew were their heroes. Angela agreed and went with her officers onto the surface of the farm world. Her officers wore pressed and elegant dress uniforms. She had such a uniform in her wardrobe, along with the standard uniform of a Fleet Commander. But she never wore either of them, for she was a Jedi at heart. Like always, she wore simple black tunic and trousers, the only item of significance—her lightsaber—hanging from her belt.

Angela found the Catarans peaceful and accommodating. They were friendly and praised her and her men. They had heard of her efforts and valiance across the frontier worlds, and she heard many tales of her own exploits exaggerated to such a degree that she sounded like a goddess of war. Angela was surprised to learn that many young Catarans want to leave their hoes behind to join her in her heroic deeds.

The news that she had an enormous pool of potential recruits staggered her. She had never anticipated her deeds to inspire so many. She had always thought her role as a military leader would be confined to the fleet. But it had expanded without her ever realizing it.

"They respect you," Captain Taisho said to her during the banquet. "You are their savior and even before then, they heard much about your war against the pirates. You're doing the stuff of legends, Commander Jedi."

"But why join me?" she mumbled, sipping a glass of wine. The grapes were very fine on Catara, and they made a pleasing drink. "War isn't a place for heroics. It may result in them, but more often than not, people just get killed."

"Look at it from their perspective, Angela," the old soldier said. His use of her name, a sign of familiarity that she never divulged to anyone, went unnoticed by the brown-haired Jedi. "Look at them and then look at how they see you. You're young, vibrant, beautiful. Even in simple black, you cut a stunning figure. You're a Jedi Knight, a commander, and a heroine. You've succeeded where others failed. They say you're a goddess because you _are_ like a goddess: powerful, wise, intelligent, unstoppable."

"It's nice of them to say so," Angela said absently, even more stunned. "I never really considered myself anything like that. I've just been doing what I thought had to be done. Those fools in the military are just after the political rewards, Taisho. They're losing because they're too cowardly to face reality. I just wanted to make things better."

"And you have," he agreed.

"But I didn't ask to become their heroine!"

He chuckled. "My daughter used to want to be an actress, Commander. Around your age, she got her wish. She hated the attention after a while. Guess you two share that much in common." With that, he stood and went to refill his drink.

Angela sighed, but a part of her—the thinking tactician—was already trying to turn the unexpected situation in her favor. In the darkest hours of slumber, she would toss and turn in her bed over her decision. But her duty to the Federation overcame her hesitation. She sent out an offer to all the young men and women of Catara: if they wished to save other worlds from the pirate threat, they could join her. Almost fourteen thousand did.

Training them took time, and her fleet stayed inactive for over three months on Catara, using the fields for educating her raw recruits in military life. But by the end of the third month, she had seven capital ships with full crews and another three close to flying status. The expanded fleet sailed off into the starlit abyss of space, Angela Marshair proudly at its head.


	3. An Officer and a Jedi, Ch 3

**Chapter Three: The Admiral's Gambit**

Admiral Moltos sat in the conference room of his flagship. Sitting across from him was a pirate lord, a massive and shockingly intelligent Gamorrean named Mook Hellfire. Moltos did not like the smelly pirate, though he was indeed very powerful. The Gamorrean boasted a fleet of twelve capital ships, bigger than most of the fleets in the Federation. He was an accomplished tactician, as well, favoring hit-and-run strategies over brute force. Indeed, Moltos saw a great deal of Angela Marshair's cunning in the Gamorrean's beady eyes. The similarity was unsettling.

"You ask me to put my men on the line for people who want to kill them," the pirate lord summarized. "You ask much, admiral."

"And you will earn much if you pull this off," Moltos promised. "We both hate Angela Marshair, Mook Hellfire. You hate her because she relentlessly hunts you and your kind. I hate her because she threatens my position. As the old saying goes, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.'" He extended his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

The Gamorrean gave the proffered hand a critical look, which shifted to taking in Moltos' eyes. Without breaking eye contact, Mook Hellfire took Admiral Moltos' hand. "We have a deal. Angela Marshair will be abandoned by the people she protects, as agreed."

Moltos smiled. "Good. My scouts report that she's settled down on the planet of Catara. She has been there for at least three months, training new recruits. Strike her down, Hellfire. Bring her to her knees, and we'll sit back and watch her fall."

* * *

Catara's night skies were red with flames.

Twelve capital-class cruisers surged over the golden fields of the agricultural world, missiles and lasers tearing through everything in their path. Seven other warships danced slowly with them, their own batteries splashing against the glow of shielding.

On the bridge of the _Impermeable_, Angela Marshair stood in front of the deadly game she was playing. Her eyes roved over the tactical displays, studying, analyzing, and plotting. Mook Hellfire's attack was sudden, unprovoked, and fierce.

He took her by surprise and managed to disable the most of the _Sentinel_'s weapon batteries before it could retaliate. With reduced firepower available to her, Angela struggled to keep the battle from Hellfire's hands. The longer she looked at the displays—with the two-to-one odds against her—the more intense her fears became.

Outwardly, she looked calm, in control, the same insurmountable commander that her men had come to know and respect.

In truth, she dreaded the outcome of the fight.

This may be the battle she would lose.

Her eyes went hard. Defeat was not an option. "Epsilon Squadron," she announced strongly, "perform a Bel Iblis A-wing slash at Hellfire's command ship on my mark; Alpha Squadron, you will run the role of A-wings. Gunnery, fire missiles at the command ship. Delta and Gamma Squadrons: attack flanking ships; keep them from assisting Hellfire. _Sentinel_, pull back and assume a flanking support position; deploy starfighters to protect the _Intrepid_ and _Interloper_. _Intrepid_: turn all batteries to vector six-six-nine. _Interloper_: turn all batteries to vector four-three-nine. Orders for the new ships under my command—_Red Avenger_ and _Beautiful Dreamer_, flank the pirates. _Clockwork Defender_, support the _Interloper_."

Her orders were carried out with lightning-fast precision; the new recruits were performing admirably, aided by the experience of the veteran soldiers. Still, she wished she had more firepower. She could use the _Tooth of Nail_, the _Long Talon_, and the _Ugly Mate_ right now, but those three were still undergoing extensive repairs. She would have to work with only the seven ships available to her.

The tactical displays were alight with her fleet's movements. She saw Epsilon Squadron's blips on the screen, followed closely by Alpha Squadron, who were hiding behind their drive tails. Epsilon broke into parade formation, drawing the battery fire of Hellfire's flagship away, leaving an opening for Alpha Squadron to lay down a burst of laser fire and proton torpedoes—a perfect A-wing slash.

"Excellent," Angela congratulated, noting that Hellfire's flagship was lumbering brokenly. "Epsilon, Alpha—press the attack. Gut Hellfire now!"

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the _Impermeable_. Warning lights signaled around her, filling the bridge with a red glow. Klaxons blared. Angela stood impassive, watching as her crew calmly went about their duties. "Status report," she demanded.

With crisp precision and efficiency, the reports came in. Enemy starfighters came up under their drive tail, hidden from sensors by ion discharge. They took out the hyperdrive and most of the _Impermeable_'s forward thrust. Angela cursed under her breath; they were sitting ducks and all of her other ships were busy fending off Hellfire's cruisers.

As she watched the tactical display, she saw a similar fate before the already-damaged _Sentinel_. It listed, its starboard engines dead. A swarm of enemy fighters flitted around it, taking potshots and slowly whittling down its shields.

Another explosion caught her attention—the _Intrepid_ had likewise been rendered motionless. One of Hellfire's cruisers was cutting away at the crippled ship's hull with intense laser fire.

"Damn you for being a decent tactician," she grumbled, thinking quickly to salvage the situation. "Delta, break engagement and protect the _Sentinel_. Epsilon and Alpha, protect the _Intrepid_; _Interloper_, disengage and use your tractor beam to bring _Intrepid_ out of danger. All ships, break engagement and form up around the _Impermeable_." Soon, her seven ships were in a tight triangular arrangement, with the _Impermeable_ and _Sentinel_ protected in the center.

She watched in grim respect as Hellfire's own cruisers began circling her fleet. "Well damn," she murmured, "He was expecting this. He's better than I thought."

The Cataran officer looked up at her worriedly. "Commander," he said shakily, "what will we do?"

Angela looked around the bridge; everyone returned her gaze expectantly, waiting for her to come up with some incredible master plan to escape. But she had run out of tricks. Hellfire had pushed her onto the defensive, put her back to the wall with no resources, no gimmicks, and no way out.

But Angela Marshair was not a woman who surrendered. She looked at the tactical display, searching desperately for an answer.

And then she saw it.

The tactical display showed twelve pirate cruisers surrounding her seven warships, all planar to each other. But the tactical display was two-dimensional. Space was three-dimensional.

"All ships pull up; all fighters, dive."

Her fleet followed her commands to the letter, unexpectedly disengaging from the fight. Hellfire's fleet was already lumbering forward, heading for the kill. Her maneuver caught him by surprise, forcing his ships to break from their intended trajectory, which required braking, turning, and re-accelerating—all time-consuming maneuvers.

She knew the starfighters would be fine. Their maneuverability would be the only defense they needed from Hellfire's cruisers. But her capital vessels were bulky and slow. She was banking on the hope that their proximity to each other would allow for enough shield overlap to withstand a continuous heavy barrage.

Once her ships were above the pirates, she ordered, "Capital ships, evacuate all lower decks and then dive horizontally. I want every ship sitting on top of a cruiser in thirty seconds."

"Captain?" the Cataran asked dumbfounded.

She smiled at him. "Our ships are damaged, their shields depleted from our escape," she explained. "But if we sit on top of Hellfire's ships, we'll destroy their bridges and main command posts, while posing minimal threat to our own." He nodded in understanding and turned to relay her orders.

She watched in relief as her plan panned out to victory. Her ships crashed upon Hellfire's fleet, mounting them in a parody of an embrace. The _Impermeable_ shuddered violently as shocks and eruptions rocked it to and fro. But it held, as did every ship in her fleet.

"Open fire on all remaining enemy vessels!" she shouted, feeling triumph within her grasp.

When the firefight died down, she demanded, "Status report on the pirates." When they came in, her smile took in her ears.

Five of the pirate cruisers were crushed in the initial attack, their bridges completely demolished beneath the bellies of her ships. Four more were incinerated in the aftermath, caught by surprise and torn apart amidst laser fire. Of the remaining three ships, all were heavily damaged. One of them was Hellfire's flagship. She ordered that the Gamorrean be brought before her.

A half-hour later, Mook Hellfire, bloodied and battered and shamed with defeat, knelt prostrated before her upon the _Impermeable_'s bridge.

"On your feet, pirate," she said coldly. He stood, looking at her with a combination of fear, hate, and—above all—respect. "You gave me quite a challenge," she said simply. "You were the first to actually come close to defeating me."

The Gamorrean growled. "And so you parade your victory? Wallow in your pride?" He pointed a fat finger at her. "You'll eventually meet defeat, Angela Marshair. Just you wait. One day, you'll make a mistake."

She nodded succinctly. "I couldn't agree more. But my defeat isn't today. I am curious though," she gazed into his beady eyes and stabbed his mind with a tendril of the Force, "I wonder who sent you? You couldn't possibly have known I was here on Catara. Answer me now: who are you working for?"

The pirate lord winced and struggled against her will, but she was far too compelling, far too powerful. His shoulders sagged and his mouth unconsciously spoke the words. "Admiral Moltos of the Federation asked me to attack you." Gasps and outraged cries broke out across the bridge. "I was to kill you, thereby taking you, his main rival, out of the picture."

Angela released him from her compulsion. "And in return, he probably paid you handsomely and assured that your position as a pirate lord was secured. After all, I wouldn't be alive to hunt you down." She gestured to a pair of guards. "Take him to the brig with the rest of his crew."

She turned to face the angered crew. She could feel their distrust of the Federation military grow, their loathing of the traitorous Admiral Moltos festering and glowing within the Force. "Have repair crews work double-time on our hyperdrive and engines. Send word to Catara—I want the _Tooth of Nail_, the _Long Talon_, and the _Ugly Mate_ ready to fly in a week."

Her hard gaze roved over her crew, lending particular seriousness to her words. "In a week, we will be heading to Denom. We'll hit Moltos where it hurts—in the courts."

* * *

Admiral Moltos looked at the datapad in his hands. "This will do nicely," he said with a wicked grin, sliding a credit stick laden with over two million credits to the slicer he had anonymously hired.

When he was alone, he admired the datapad like an expensive and rare work of art. "Beautiful," he commented. "With this, Marshair will see her end."

He went to alert his fellow conspirators to prepare for a long hyperspace journey. It was time to go to Denom. He would dismember the upstart Jedi where it hurt most—in the courts.


	4. An Officer and a Jedi, Ch 4

**Chapter Four: Counterstrike**

The gathered admirals looked at the datapad with dark smiles.

"An impressive collection," Admiral Ronso said, very, very pleased. "How much of it is true?"

Admiral Moltos grinned ear-to-ear; he had found the datapad, after all. "Every bit of it."

"How very ironic," said Admiral Stempson, "that the highly-respected Fleet Commander Angela Marshair had such notoriety." His grin made him look like a hungry wolf.

"Indeed." Moltos crossed his fingers, resting his chin against his thumbs. His gaze took in his conspirators. "I need not remind you that time is of the essence. I've recently lost contact with Mook Hellfire; I can only assume that she's already defeated him."

Ronso waved a dismissive hand. "Not that it matters; he was only a distraction, to buy us time. We have ample of it, now."

"You do not see the implications, Ronso," Moltos countered. "Hellfire is a weak-minded fool. Marshair will easily obtain the identity of the one who sent him—me. But Marshair is an impulsive girl, much like her late mentor, Tonno-Skeve. She will come to us—or rather, to the capital world of Denom—and try to discredit us, as we are trying to discredit her. If our plan is to succeed, we must move swiftly."

"We will arrive at Denom within a day," Stempson added encouragingly. "Surely, we must be ahead of the upstart Jedi girl. She will not reach us in time."

"Do not underestimate the power of the Force," Moltos warned. It was difficult to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastically bitter. "And further, do not underestimate the tenacity of Angela Marshair. I recall another admiral, Toniss Adguard, who made that mistake. He's now paying for that error in a jail cell."

"But your plan is foolproof!" Ronso argued. He gesticulated strongly. "We have all the cards. She can't win once we bring this datapad to the courts. They'll _have_ to take her command away. This may even discredit the entire Jedi Order, removing the whole lot of the pests."

"Ronso," Stempson cut in, "just because we have the advantage, does not mean that we have the hand." He looked to Moltos, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Isn't that right, admiral? There's another factor to consider regarding this." He tapped the datapad.

Moltos nodded stonily. "While the information in that datapad is true and condemning, it will not be enough. Ronso, you overestimate what this datapad can do. The most we can do with this is sow distrust among the Senate and the military, turn their eyes away from our activities. Like I said, all we can do is discredit her. Destroying her must come separately."

Ronso balked. "But…but this." His sputtering was clear indication that he did not understand.

Moltos calmly explained, as if to a child, "What Angela Marshair did happened a long time ago. Furthermore, the issue was addressed and resolved by the Jedi Order. Therefore, it is largely useless as damning evidence. But we can still use it to throw her character into question. According to this datapad, her actions were very dubious. We can use that as leverage, to make a push to have her stripped of her rank, command, and fleet. But that will take time and must be done at the right moment."

The crafty admiral leaned forward intently, sharing a conspiratorial moment with his allies. "But I promise you this. In a day, my friends, we will carry out the first step of Angela Marshair's downfall. Be patient, my comrades. I have yet one more trick up my sleeve."

* * *

Angela sat in her command chair, drawing heavily upon the Force and upon her own mental reserves to stave off the agitation growing within her. Her fleet had flown through hyperspace as fast as it could, but she had not taken a moment's rest. Like chimeras and phantoms, thoughts and fears danced in her mind.

What were the admirals plotting? What could they use against her? She was positive that an assassination attempt—especially one as unsubtle and clumsy as Hellfire—was not their true gambit. There was another element at work, one that she could not comprehend. She needed information, which she was in sore lacking of. It irked her, not knowing.

"Commander," the sensor operator sounded an alert, "we're picking up four capital ships around our drop-out coordinates. They read as Federation vessels."

It was obvious who they were. The hyperspace exit vector identified them more clearly than any transponder code. "Hail them," Angela ordered. The holo of Admiral Moltos appeared on her screen. "Hello, admiral," she greeted without warmth. "What brings you to Denom? Didn't you have some pirates to settle with in the Eejack Sectors?"

"Jedi Marshair," the admiral replied frostily, "as lovely as ever, I see. I merely stopped by for supplies."

"You're quite a ways away from the Outer Rim for a supply run, admiral," she countered crisply.

The communications officer spoke up, sounding very puzzled. "Commander," the officer said, "this channel isn't coming from the ship we're hailing."

Angela spun on the officer. "What?"

"It's coming up two parsecs away—behind us. The ship we're hailing is relaying us somewhere else."

Suddenly, klaxons blared all around. Red alert lights bathed the bridge in a blood-red glow. "Commander! Two more capital ships are coming up right behind us," shouted the sensor operator. "They've just dropped out of hyperspace and are opening fire!" The _Impermeable_ shuddered as turbolaser fire tore into the shields.

The brown-haired Jedi cursed. "Turn us around," she ordered. "Power up weapons, divert half power from engines to shields. Angle shields double-rear. Keep the Federation ships in front of us and return fire on the enemy." Her commands were carried out with alacrity. There was not a word of confusion or panic in her crew and she felt pride in their skill and teamwork. In seconds, the _Impermeable_ was retaliating with its own red barrage.

"_Tooth of Nail_ and _Sentinel_ have destroyed one of the warships, Commander."

She nodded briskly. "Continue firing on the remaining ship. Shoot to disable. I want it alive."

Turbolaser fire painted the black abyss red. "Ship disabled, Commander—wait, what the—" The remaining enemy capital ship buckled in on itself, splitting apart and dying in a gout of flame and artificial atmosphere.

"I said shoot to disable!" Angela cried. But her crew insisted that the ship had been disabled. She checked the energy readings. Just like her troops claimed, they had shot to disable—battery fire was at forty-percent power, enough to tear off shields and hull plating, but not enough to cause structural damage.

What's going on? she wondered. She had the sick feeling that Moltos was somehow behind all of this.

Thinking about Moltos brought her attention back to the holo—the holo that was no longer there. "What happened to our connection?"

Before anyone could answer her, another holo appeared. The human was red with outrage, despite the blue diffuse glow of the holotransmission. "Commander Marshair," the human shouted, his uniform that of a high-ranking Federation naval officer, "this is an outrage! You just destroyed two of our cruisers! You just killed Admiral Moltos!"

The proclamation stunned the young Jedi into a sputtering fit. Her mind was whirling, coherent thought gone like a ghostly wind. Finally, she managed to spout out, "What?" It sounded feeble to her ears.

The human only glared at her. "Commander Marshair, you will power down your shields, engines, and weapons systems. Your ships will be impounded, your crews placed into isolation. You will be boarded and you will be taken into custody." His next words chilled her heart. "Finally, you will be arrested for treason and murder."

* * *

"It seems clear to me," said the Bothan prosecutor, "that Jedi Angela Marshair is an untrustworthy woman who seeks military adventure for her own personal gain." He strode up and down the court, waving a datapad in his furry hand. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is information given to me by Admiral Moltos just moments before he was brutally murdered by this woman." He laid an accusing finger at Angela, who sat morosely in the defendant's chair.

She was in a state of half-shock, her mind still processing the utter craziness that had become the last few hours of her life. Somehow, she had managed to kill Admiral Moltos and destroyed two Federation capital ships. Somehow, she had been stripped of her military rank. Somehow, she was branded a traitor to the Federation, the peace, and everything the Jedi Order stood for. How had it come to this? she wailed silently.

The Bothan continued his allegations. "The fallen admiral sent this to me via a coded transmission. You all have copies of it. As you can see, this details the illegal actions of Jedi Angela Marshair during the Rakaris debacle two years ago. Slicing personal data files on Admirals LeFrein and Adguard, acquiring illegal identification documents, altering her ship's signature codes, stealing an item from a nobleman's private collection—all minor offenses, all done in the name of so-called justice."

The Bothan prosecutor whirled on his audience with flair and skill, capturing their attention. He held even Angela in thrall, and she could only watch helplessly as he twisted her name in knots, dragged it through the mud, and turned her good deeds into the foulest of sins. "These were minor offenses, ladies and gentlemen," the Bothan said sweetly, working his audience. "But they show us the truth of her character. She is duplicitous, suspect, and capable of breaking the law to achieve her own ends. We have a name for this—vigilante.

"When has it ever been the authority of a Jedi—of anyone—to take the law into their own hands? We have police, we have the military, and we have the Jedi. What need have we of vigilantes? Furthermore, where is the line? Where is the line that divides crime in the name of the greater good from crime for the sake of personal gain?" He pointed at her again, his finger a lance into her heart. "This woman has crossed that invisible line, ladies and gentlemen. Crossed it and destroyed it."

He waved the datapad again. "This is how it happened: Jedi Angela Marshair learned of good Admiral Moltos' attempt to warn me of her duplicitous nature and sought to eliminate the threat. Thus, she opened fire on him, intent on keeping the truth in the shadows.

"She and her crew claimed that Moltos' ship attacked first, but there is no evidence in the ruins of the admiral's vessel that such an event ever occurred. Indeed, technicians have gone over the fallen ship's records five times, with nothing indicating that they fire first. You may say that the _Impermeable_'s records have data, even complete footage, of Moltos opening fire, but this datapad confirms Marshair's electronic ingenuity. Dare we trust anything from her or her own out of fear that it may be fabricated? I think not.

"Our course is clear: Jedi Angela Marshair is a menace and must be expelled from this military and, if I may be so bold to suggest, from the Jedi Order itself." The Bothan left the floor and took his seat to resounding applause.

Angela felt her heart sink into her belly.

An hour later, she was sitting in a cold jail cell, her black tunic gone, replaced by a grim gray prison uniform. The galaxy seemed bleak, like the gray of her clothes and the plainness of her prison.

Angela was kept in confinement and under heavy guard for a week. She received only one meal a day, and then only under the strictest surveillance and security. Everyone knew she was the most powerful Jedi in the Order. Everyone feared her might and were just waiting for her to unleash her strength. But she never did. The guards held their weapons on full-power, but never once did they see a reason to fire.

She just stayed in her cell in perfect silence. Where had everything gone wrong? What in the bloody hell was going on? Where had everything gone so horribly, unpredictably wrong? She tangled with these questions until she was to dizzy to think straight. Anxiety, disbelief, stunned numbness all took their toll on her, blocked out coherent thought, incapacitated her. Never had she felt so deplorable and alone.

She cried at the end of the week, her first bout of tears since her Master died. Thinking about him, thinking about how alone she was, only made the tears flow hotter. "Ran," she mumbled with a sniffle, curling into a pathetic ball, "I need you now."

That moment of weakness was when she heard the door to her cell hiss open. Expecting guards, she blinked in surprise when she saw Captain Taisho standing in the doorway. "What are you doing here?" she asked dumbly. The elderly captain smiled warmly and tossed her a metallic item. She caught it and looked at it in astonishment.

Her lightsaber.

"We're breaking you out of here, Commander," the captain said simply. "We've put most of the guards to sleep and sliced the surveillance cameras. We don't have a lot of time. Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

"You can't do this," Angela protested. "I won't have my crew be blamed for this, and I'm certainly not going to let you be party to aiding a felon."

"You aren't to blame and you aren't a felon," Taisho countered. "We were there, Commander. Moltos shot first. And," he added as an aside, "I don't think Moltos was actually on that ship."

"What?" Angela breathed.

The captain turned on her sharply, his gaze intent and determined. "Not here. Not enough time. I'll explain later. Come on." He bolted into the hallway and she followed, close on his heels.

He led her to an unmarked transport ship, a civilian Corellian-made ship. It looked like a thousand similar transports. It was the perfect escape ride. They boarded without preamble and the ship lurched into the depths of space, leaving Denom behind.

"Don't worry about the rest of the fleet," Taisho said. "They know what we're doing. They're going to stay groundside until this blows over. Only me and a few others from the _Impermeable_'s crew are involved in this jailbreak gambit."

Once the transport was safely in the blue-white glow of hyperspace, Angela demanded explanations. "You said you didn't think Moltos was on board. What did you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," Taisho replied. "Remember how his holo was actually coming from another source? Well, I traced it when your court martial was going on. It originated out in the Outer Rim world of Antioch—which, I believe, is where Moltos was last stationed, just prior to your arrival as a Fleet Commander. His holotransmission was relayed via a network of communication buoys along hyperspace trade routes. Very simple, very effective."

Angela's mind clicked. The pieces fell together and she practically roared in anger as the clever logic of it all finally wove into a coherent pattern. "Those Federation ships we encountered when we dropped out of hyperspace—those were decoys, meant for us to think that we caught Moltos just before he arrived on Denom. Those two ships that dropped out right behind us and opened fire—those were supposed to be scapegoats, ones with altered records saying that we fired first and, furthermore, that Moltos was on board."

Her next words came out with a mixture of quiet outrage and deep respect, "Moltos tricked us all."

Taisho nodded. "He tried to discredit you. I'd assume that he was going to try with that datapad information."

Angela shook her head. "That by itself wouldn't be enough. My actions were condoned back then. No one would question it unless some grotesque crime had been done—such as the murder of an admiral. Mook Hellfire was also an unwitting pawn in Moltos' plot, I'd wager. He was sent to pique my interest, to set me up. I fell for it. Because of Hellfire, I came running right to Denom and into Moltos' little trap."

She smiled with admiration for Moltos' cleverness. "It was an ingenious trick, but it has one major flaw."

Taisho nodded. "Moltos wouldn't kill himself just to discredit you," he said, voicing her thoughts. "He had to fake his death—which means, of course, that he's still alive somewhere."

Angela finished, "And that somewhere is Antioch."

* * *

Antioch was not what a sentient being would call a tourist's spot. Far too warm during the summer, far too cold during the winter, it was a small planet no larger than a moon and was devoid of all but the most basic features: a mountain range and a large body of water—a poor excuse for an ocean. There was only one settlement on the tiny world, but it served its purpose well enough.

It was not supposed to be pretty. It was not supposed to be a permanent base of operations. The military base had only one function: organization point for the various pirate-hunting fleets operating in the Outer Rim. Right now, the landing fields lay barren, save for a few capital ships and transport craft sitting by their lonesome, refueling cables jacked into their underbellies.

"Moltos is somewhere in there," Angela said quietly. "I can feel him in the Force, gloating at his victory. Guess he hasn't heard about my escape, huh?"

"We were very thorough about slicing your prison records," Taisho said. "We figure that we have about six more hours before the press finally finds out. Hopefully, we'll have Moltos by then. That in and of itself should free you from blame."

Angela smiled grimly. "Just float me over there, Taisho," she said, pointing to the western edge of the base. "Bring us around and I'll take care of the rest."

"As you wish, Commander."

Their transport banked to starboard and settled above the spot she indicated. The brown-haired Jedi opened the landing hatch, shielded her eyes from the sudden blast of atmospheric air, and leaped onto the rooftop of the base, her green-bladed lightsaber flaring to life. Within two seconds of touching ground, she sliced a clean hole through the roof and plummeted into the office below.

There was a crunch as a desk was squashed beneath a slab of roof. Disoriented shouts heralded her unconventional entrance. Angela took a quick glance around her and took in every face she saw. Admiral Ronso, Admiral Stempson.

Admiral Moltos.

She leveled her lightsaber at him. The smile that took in her ears held the fierce delight of sweet, poetic justice. "Hello," she said lightly, "you're under arrest. Every. Last. One of you."

* * *

"Are you certain you don't want to keep your commission?" Taisho pleaded with her. It was two weeks since Angela turned in the conspiring admirals and cleared her name. She and the captain stood on the plains of Catara. Major Isano, Lieutenant Vale, and all the other troopers and officers of her fleet were among the farmers, cheering her vindication. The wheat was golden and the sun was shining. It was good day.

Angela shook her head. "I'm not well-loved in the navy," she said simply. "Even though I've been declared innocent, there are still others who don't want a Jedi among them. They're afraid of me and of what I can do."

"Not everyone is like that," the elderly captain said.

She smiled at him warmly. "I know that, my friend. But let's face the truth—you're just a minority of trust among a majority of wariness. Besides," she said with more gusto and vigor, "I'm not really a Jedi if I'm wandering around with a fleet. The pirates are all scared of me now, anyway. I read that piracy has dropped over fifteen percent in the last month alone."

"Indeed. You did a good job, Commander Jedi."

"Don't call me that anymore," she said kindly. "Its time for me to return to being a Jedi Knight."

They were silent for a moment. "What will you do now?" Taisho asked, breaking the quiet.

She shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I joined the military so I could make a major difference. It almost ended in disaster. I got cocky, careless, I guess. But it won't happen again. I'll be more careful from now on and I'll act like a Jedi should. Master Skywalker was right about being wary of me—I wasn't ready for the responsibilities of being a Jedi, if this debacle was any indication. But now, I think, I've finally gotten the picture."

She turned to face the captain squarely. She gave him a slow, deliberate salute. He returned it with a smile. "It was a pleasure working with you, Commander Jedi," he said sincerely, emphasizing her rank despite her words.

Her grin was warm, serene—the smiling face of a fellow soldier and something greater. "Good flying, Captain Taisho."

**The End**


End file.
